


Naming Your Demon

by ANonsense



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is not a naming dictionnary, Aziraphale ought to know better, Crowley is not happy, Crowley's middle name is not Jesus, Dialogue-Only, Gen, Humor, Middle Names, Please Forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANonsense/pseuds/ANonsense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony J. Crowley had been 'J' long enough for his liking. It was time he gave it some thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naming Your Demon

            Anthony J. Crowley. He didn’t care what the J stood for, but he’d been offered suggestions.

            “John.”

            “Terrible name. Boring.”

            “Could be short for Jack...”

            “Not happening. Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘every man Jack of them’? Because there’s a reason for the ‘every man Jack’ bit.”

“James.”

“Too disciple-y. Think of something more... hellish.”

            “Judas.”

            “Go straight for him, why don’t you?”

            “I thought you said more hellish?”

            “I meant as in hellish-hellish, not snivelling wimpy little coward hellish.”

            “He betrayed Jesus!”

            “So? Does ‘we want Barabbas’ mean anything to you? Or did I just make up that bit?”

“Oh alright then; not Judas. Julius.”

            “No. Bastard. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself, even married to a seductress.”

            “Jean.”

            “Do I look French to you?”

            “Jericho.”

            “No.”

            “I heard it’s popular...”

            “I’m not one to blow my own trumpet.”

            *sigh* _“Crowley.”_

            “Yeah... ok, that was terrible.”

            “Even by _your_ standards, dear.”

            “...Hey. What do you mean by _‘even by my standards’_?”

            “Sorry, Crowley, but your jokes are normally rather base.”

            “Foul, maybe. Dirty. But _good_.”

            “I’m not sure that I would use that particular adjective to describe most of them, dear, but never mind. What about Jason?”

            “Can’t abide the name Jason. Sounds too much like one of yours.”

            “He was. Jason of Tarsus. Acts 17. You’re right; maybe not your scene. Jacob? No – don’t answer that – probably not. Justin.”

            “The day my name becomes Justin is the day I kiss Hastur full on the lips in front of the entirety of the damned and invite the whole of the heavenly host to the wedding ceremony.”

            “Oh.”

            “Same with ‘Jesus’. Just in case you tried to be clever.”

            “I wasn’t trying to be clever.”

            “Well then. Isn’t that a nice change?”

            “Crowley. Stop trying to be funny. It isn’t working. Jonas.”

            “No.”

            “Jim-Bob.”

            “We are in England. Not Texas.”

            “Jesse.”

            “Urgh. It sounds like a girl’s name.”

            “Crowley, what am I meant to do? I am not a living dictionary, you know: the only other names I can think of off of the top of my head are the ones I learnt from the Bible and I’m certain that you do not want to be called Jezebel.”

            “I might want to be called Jezebel.”

            “You don’t.”

            “I might.”

            “You don’t. I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

            “Whatever. Think harder this time.”

            “Jumbo.”

            “...”

            “I told you: my repertoire is not extensive. Jim.”

            “No.”

            “Jimmy.”

            “No.”

            “Jiminee.”

            “I am a snake, angel: I eat crickets for breakfast.”

            “June.”

            “Nicht.”

            “Jules.”

            “Nein.”

            “Julian.”

            “Ne.”

            “Jubilee.”

            “Non, vous ange stupide.”

            “I am _trying_ , Crowley, to _help_. You do _not_ want me to... uh... what was that term you used last Wednesday?”

            “Bookify my ass.”

            “Exactly. Um... You don’t want me bookifying your bottom, demon. Do I make myself clear?”

            “You make yourself sound completely ignor-”

            “ _Demon_.”

            “Right.”

            “...”

            “It’s ass, actually. As in, anus. The American for arse. Because, you know, you can slur it. Sounds more gangsterish, actually. Like bad-”

            “ _Crowley_.”

            “Right.”

            “...ahem.”

            “...”

            “Jesus.”

            “I _knew_ it. I just _knew_ it would come up. I _knew_ it. It’s the only joke you upstairs people make these days. Anthony Jesus Crowley. It’s all filtered downwards. I’ve heard it. I’ve heard all the rumours. You’ve all said it at some point. I _knew_ it. What did I say? I said ‘don’t say Jesus’. I said ‘don’t say Jesus’ because it’s the only thing I knew you were going to say. I’ve heard it; I’ve heard it all before.”

            “Crowley.”

            “’Crowley,’ he says – and this is the big cheese at the moment, down at our bus stop, oh yes – he says, ‘Crowley; I’ve heard this new joke I want to tell you. I know you’ll think it’s a jolly good laugh and all. I know you’ll love it. Hastur told me it especially. I just adore it.’ And, you know, Hastur gets on everyone’s nerves sometimes, even his, so it was a bit of a shock to hear he’d heard it from Hastur. I just knew it was coming, though. I knew it. He never calls me if he wants a job done: he just tells somebody to tell me, you know? So I knew this joke had to be about me. Oh yes. I knew it had to be about me. Every joke is, nowadays. Oh yes. So he said, ‘Crowley?’ And I said, ‘yes M’lord?’ because he always makes me say that. He always makes me say something like that, smarmy bastard. Anyway. ‘Crowley,’ he says, ‘Is your middle name Jesus?’”

            “Crowley.”

            “And I said, ‘No, it’s just J at the moment. It’s a work in progress.’ And he said, ‘It’s Jesus, isn’t it?’ And I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going to let it go. I knew I was going to have to back down and say something like, ‘Oh yes, my most wonderful unholiness; oh yes. It _is_ Jesus. Why, however did you guess?’ And that twat Hastur was sitting there on his arse thinking ‘He’s going to have to say this. He will. Or he’ll get it.’”

            “Crowley.”

            “And I just knew it. Because it’s the only thing you joke about these days. Smile on your face. Smiles on all the faces of your audience because they all know it’s coming. I’ve heard it. I’ve heard everybody say it. It’s on everybody’s lips it’s-”

            “ _Crowley_.”

            “Blasting its way into every... What, angel? I was talking here, you know.”

            “Crowley. I’ve thought of a good one.”

“Oh. You have? That’s... Oh. Right. Ok. Go for it, then. Um...”

“Jay.”

“Um... Wait... That was...”

“Apparently it’s all the rage nowadays.”

“Jay?”

“Yes. It’s really quite sweet, isn’t it? Like a little birdy. Not that most people think of it that way at all...”

“That’s... that’s it?”

“I mean, most people... Yes, dear. That’s it.”

“That’s... that’s...that’s... That’s actually quite a good one, actually.”

“Really?”

“Really. I like it. It’s good.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved. I only had one name left, after all.”

“Huh. Anthony Jay... Anthony J... Oh? And what name was that, then?”

“Well, you’re probably glad you didn’t pick it, really. Rather scraping the bottom of the barrel, as it were. Bit of a duff pun.”

“Really.”

“Well...”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Um. Well. It’s like... sort of a play on the hellish torturer side that you wanted to portray. Um. Like the Bible book. You know. And the suffering in the desert.”

“Right?”

“Job-inator.”

“...”

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

“You know, Aziraphale... I think, if that had been the only other choice... I think I might have actually picked Jesus.”

And Crowley had stayed Anthony Jay.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry.  
> ‘Job-inator’ is pronounced Joe-bin-ay-tor after the Job (Joe-b) in the Bible and Terminator. Job-inator meaning more or less to ‘turn into Job’, which, as Job suffered immensely, would imply Job-inator being a torturer of some sort.  
> I'm really, really sorry.  
> I had an alternate ending but I wrote this, like, four years ago and I have no idea where the other ending is. I probably deleted it.  
> The only reason I am posting this is because I actually quite like the rest of it. But seriously, I am so, so very sorry.


End file.
